Big Man

“Well, if you can manage not to dirty up the bed with dinner, we could…” I pause. Swallow that last word.

He raises an eyebrow. Doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t prompt me, but doesn’t change the subject, either.

I shake my head. “Just, sleep wherever tonight. It doesn’t bother me.” That said, I grab another rib and stuff it into my mouth before I say something I’ll really regret. Something like sleep with me in this bed tonight—and for the love of God, please do more than just sleep here.

Or something more his style, more direct. Something like Please fuck me right here in the middle of this delicious tray of BBQ you just cooked.

If there’s one thing sexier than a big, sexy country man who takes care of you when you’re sick, it’s a big sexy country man who takes care of you and knows how to cook a mean rib. I’ve tried grilling ribs for my friends back in the city about a million times, but none of them ever turn out right. None of them ever taste quite like home.

I’d almost forgotten what real ribs taste like, until these.

Grant, for his part, lets up on the flirting long enough to finish eating, at least. I’m still licking my fingers when he grabs the tray to whisk it off.

“Non-cook does dishes,” I call after him.

He just shouts back from the kitchen, “Lie back down.”

I groan and collapse back onto the pillows. “I’m not an invalid,” I protest. But protests aside, it doesn’t take long for my eyelids to droop. I manage to drag myself out of bed long enough to wash my face and brush my teeth, then I slink back into the room and slip under the covers. I’m out before I even remember to turn off the light.

Farming is hard work.

I wake up to a faint motion. I squint at the ceiling—the light is off now. It takes me a moment, in the moonlit farmhouse, to remember where exactly I am. It takes me even longer to realize what the faint sigh beside me means, and to recognize the presence of another warm body.

I roll over, eyes widening, to find Grant sound asleep next to me. He’s on his back, face turned away from me, but he’s fast asleep, chest rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm.

He’s shirtless too. Only his boxers on, which I can tell because he’s lying on top of the covers instead of underneath, heat practically radiating off his body. Normally I’m cold at night, especially in this little farmhouse on the brink of fall without any indoor heating besides the wood stove in the kitchen to go by. But the room feels hot with Grant here, and not just temperature-wise.

I sit up a little. “Grant?” I whisper, softly, just to check.

Nothing. No reaction. I lie back down and continue to watch him, a flush spreading over my cheeks.

He’s fucking hot as hell.

He sighs softly and rolls over, away from me. I sit up a little, checking whether he’s woken up. But no. He’s still sound asleep. With his face relaxed in sleep, he’s even more attractive. His cheekbones stand out sharply in the moonlight, and his eyelids flutter faintly. Dreaming, I’d guess, from the way his fingertips twitch and his hips shift a little.

I trace my eyes down his bare chest, along the stark ridges of his muscles, and then I draw in a sharp breath.

Definitely dreaming. And something very, very enjoyable to judge by the way his cock stands at attention, rock hard, the big, thick outline visible even through his boxers. Tent is putting it mildly—he’s building a whole fort down there.

It doesn’t take much imagination to picture what’s under that thin fabric. I saw how big he was even when he wasn’t hard in the shower. Now, he looks like he’s got one of those novelty-store dildos in his pants, the ones that are so big you wonder if anyone could possibly have a dick that size.

What would that feel like inside me?

He’d hurt, probably, at least at first. But fuck, how good would it feel once we got going? How hard would this big country man fuck me if I let him?

Is that what he’s dreaming about right now? He talked about wanting to bend me over and fuck me in the dirt… Is he picturing doing that to me now as he sleeps? Picturing us out in the field, him tearing off my skimpy little jean shorts and stuffing that fat cock inside me?

I slide my hand down the flat plane of my stomach, toward my PJ shorts. I wore them to be decent, same with the little sleep tank top. Now I’m wishing I’d gone a bit bolder. Thong and a lace bra, maybe, or even less. Clearly Grant would’ve appreciated it.